Kuradi Promise
by ZDrive
Summary: Kanda, a demon, was a slave to his human master, fighting for his life in the arena. But when a strange white haired woman with soft grey eyes by the name of Shelly Walker steps into his life with her son, Allen, Kanda promises to protect him. But Kanda thinks he bit off more than he could chew 10 years later. YULLEN


**Kuradi Promise**

**(means 'A Demon's Promise' in Estonian)**

**Summary: Kanda, a demon, was a slave to his human master, fighting for his life in the arena. But when Shelly Walker steps into his life with her son Allen, Kanda promises to protect him. But Kanda thinks he bit off more than he could chew 10 years later.**

**I love Shelly, I really do. **** She's my favorite OC in this story, and she's how I would picture Allen's mom if she wasn't a prostitute or irresponsible. I hope you love her too!**

**Swaggin' Out,**

**Z**

**And review! Reviews make the world go round. Whooooo! Look at the ceiling spinning-! Okay, let's stop. *turns green***

**Chapter 1: **

Shelly Walker liked to think of herself as nice, compassionate, and patient. Well, at least the patient part, she knew she could get pretty nasty if she wanted to.

But Marian Cross, old college friend and General of the Black Order, a study and training unit for supernatural beings, was getting on her last nerve, and while she wasn't fond of violence, she knew that Marian occasionally needed a good, hard, punch in the nose.

Shelly worked for the D.S.P.U., A.K.A., the Demon Society Protection Unit, as a scholar of the history and health of demons. Not used to handling such demons one-on-one, and usually observing and studying at a distance or behind the desk, Shelly wasn't exactly comfortable with the prospect of working undercover with her old college friend at an arena, infamous for its cruelty and constant deaths of demons. Unfortunately, the Black Order insisted (_demanded, actually…who do they think they are, the Queen of England?!_) on her presence as to record the health and what species as well as their history, on both the demon and its owner. The Black Order and D.S.P.U. had put their files and records together on the whole case, a mess of history and demons and owners, most of them rumors, and only a few actually had hints of solid evidence. These people were evasive to both governmental units, and when more bloodshed came, they panicked and called their two best:

General Marian Cross and Doctor Shelly Walker.

Well, Cross was the one to oh-so-innocently suggest Shelly's skills and presence as a potential witness casually, to the Order, who in turn asked for Shelly's assistance in the matter. Yes, Shelly had taken it, and yes, she wanted to do everything in her power to help those poor creatures, but she knew that deep down, it would probably scar her for life…

…that, and she knew Marian just wanted to get into her pants, but she would send him reeling off of her if he laid one finger on her inappropriately with her small fists.

Shelly rifled through her closet, her large, soft gray eyes flitting through available dresses and coats, but most of them were simply sweaters and thin, spring dresses. She sighed, wiping her deeply tanned cheek free of sweat and abandoned the mission of rummaging in her closet to turn down the heater. Sure it was the middle of winter, but she was suffocating here!

She walked down the too-small hallway and ducked slightly under the peeling doorway and adjusted the thermostat. After that, she turned and took three to four steps through their small, faded living room and went into the cramped kitchen. The fridge's insides were cold and white and bare, only a few scraps of food, and she frowned at that, but when she closed the door, she couldn't help but smile and look at the numerous, colorful pictures of her loved ones cluttered on the surface of the fridge door, both taped and with magnets.

Touching the picture of a delighted, proud man with pale skin, graying, black hair, and smile lines holding a new born baby boy, swaddled in blue blankets, large and intelligent, gray eyes peering over the edge at the camera, she smiled and tucked a strand of long, snow white hair behind her ear, the silver loop in her ear swinging slightly at the movement.

Shelly missed her husband with all her heart. Three years ago, he died of cancer, after their 11th anniversary. Allen had been three, and hadn't understood his father's sickness and sudden death. He cried in the middle of the night, plagued with dreams of his missing, dear father for a whole year, and Shelly had to sleep next to him, holding her precious son tightly, marveling on how he never complained and how polite and mild, sweet natured he was…just like his father.

Of course, he had quite the temper, even if he was patient, and he was good with words, both the nice and the hurtful. His love for music, especially piano music, also stemmed from his father, but, like Shelly, he was also no push over, had a giant appetite, and was the most hard-headed, stubborn child who used his utter cuteness and innocent age like a weapon. He could bend anyone to his will with a few 'accidental' mispronunciations of words and a flutter of ridiculously long black lashes.

And he knew it.

But she also reminded herself that no matter how marvelous he was in her eyes or others, he was still a child, lost and vulnerable without the father who adored him so much it hurt, and when she questioned him about the dreams, he said it had once been nightmares, but was now turning back to when Mana used to hold him, or sing to him, or teach him how to play the piano, or said wise things to his ears that he never quite understood, and will probably never understand until the time he matured. Shelly, in turn, told him that she was glad the nightmares had passed, but asked her son why he would cry if he was now having flashes of good past times with his father.

Allen had responded with red, watery eyes, 'Because it hurts that I can't have that with him again.'

Shelly later cried silently while holding him that night, after she had whispered, 'Relish those memories, my darling…for you will never experience those times with your daddy again, but remember and honor him with the greatest memories of the most beautiful moments with him and hold it close to your heart, for it is more precious than all the gold in the world.'

Allen hadn't understood that either, but it didn't matter. He would one day, and that day would be the day Allen would have officially become the man, the adult, that both Shelly and Mana would be proud of to raise.

Shelly sighed and let her arm drop as she went back to her bedroom, wiping a trace of tears from her eyes, long white hair swishing softly to her waist as she walked. Going through her closet again, she found a nice, yet faded, gray-blue wool coat, knee length, and a long dark brown dress, flaring ever-so-slightly at her tiny waist and a zipper at the back, a bit shiny under the lights, with a short V-neck. She pulled it out and quickly dressed, checking the time and nearly cursing.

"…"

Okay, so she did curse, but since Mana had been too polite, she would be the one to have a bit of a potty mouth to even it out.

Running to the bathroom to put on a dab of lipstick and mascara, she smoothed down her dress, ran a brush through her hair, and rushed out the door, only to scramble, nearly tripping over her black heels (_Damn stilts!_), back inside and hurriedly search for her purse. Shit, she lost it again!

Swearing up a storm now, she finally found it under the coach, flicking off a spider or two, then racing outside and hailing a taxi once out of the apartment complex, smiling and nodding to a few pot heads, who nodded back to her, having gotten used to her cheery, bubbly mood, even towards the occasional druggies. They were friends, or acquaintances in a way, since she helped a few of them out when they were in money troubles, helping them getting out of gangs safely, or even going so far as to hold their hand while in rehab.

Shelly Walker was a stubborn angel with a hot temper, but she loved and accepted who you were, not judging because she herself was not a hypocrite and was kind to the very core of her nature. She was a true friend in the end and beginning, something only a few have accomplished, and many would pretend to be or strive to be.

…but could she really befriend a demon?

…

…

…

She was late. Again.

Probably got lost…again.

This girl was trouble prone, and accident prone! The first time he met the little sweetheart was when she had been surrounded by hormonal thugs…and kicking their asses.

She was also oblivious to his approaches, unless made obvious or extravagant, and when it finally clicked, she would turn, give him the sweetest smile in the history of smiles, and kick him in the balls, smile still in place.

She was fucking hot.

General Marian Cross narrowed his hazel eyes, hat shadowing his mask covering half his face and made smoke rings with his cancer stick, leaning against the wall at the corner of the street, only a block or two away from their destination.

Shelly Walker was a catch, and she was one of those special (annoying) people that stuck with their loved ones no matter what. Even when they were dead, would she ever stay loyal.

So. Fucking. _Annoying._

But she was smart, skilled, clever, witty, and beautiful. So, him being the generous gentleman he was, could over look over all her personality flaws, because, like him, she was a beautiful person. She truly was. Well, her beauty was of the inside _and _the outside, and while Cross liked to think he had both too, he knew that he really didn't, but like hell he was going to tell or admit to _anyone _that he had – God forbid – _flaws!_

His respect for her was forever, though.

But even that took a few hits when she came skidding around the corner, in a plain, _boring_ dress, shoes, and coat. And _her hair-!_ Hasn't she ever heard of hair bands?! _And really_? Where was the _makeup_, for heaven's _sake-!_

Cross refused to acknowledge the fact that he was acting like a girl.

Because, being the sweetly, cunning, deceivingly seductive white fox she was with big and grey, innocent eyes, Shelly Walker would grip this information like a bulldog with a bone and refuse to relinquish her iron hold and taunt and mortify him like nobody else could, because she liked putting her neck out her, knowing the blade of a guillotine name Cross wouldn't drop, and if it did, she would simply yank her head back, grab the nearest chainsaw, and mow him down.

Seriously. She could be a very, very scary person when she wants to.

Not even Cross would screw with her. Literally and figuratively. Though he could still dream with the literal part…sigh.

The first few times he had scary encounters with what he called the 'Black Shelly' was in college. She was the only reason he toned it down, and junior year was when she and Mana met, and like the rude man he was, Cross scoped him out. Later, he realized they were, indeed, for each other, and this prediction was proved correct when a year after they graduated, they married, and a few years down the road, had a little brat that was the perfect balance of the two. Of course, he would never call sweet, innocent little Allen a brat again, because the last time he did that, Shelly had pulled him away from her son with a glittering smile and into the nearest room, where later Allen would enter with those big grey eyes and ask innocently why the glass vase had broken and demanding if his mother was alright.

The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, Cross had mused as stars spun dizzily in chaotic circles around his head, when observing the nasty look Allen shot him when he thought Cross had hurt the child's mother, only to turn as naïve and innocent as if he were born yesterday when his father came home from work and realized the crystal vase had shattered.

Conniving white foxes.

He couldn't blame Mana for being blinded or falling in love with the sinfully beautiful, clever, snowy white devils. Because if he had a heart, he probably would have too.

Well, at least until the brat came along, but whatever. HIS child would have looked and acted like him, so it would have been pure perfection. Like him.

But there were times when he couldn't help but sigh and resist the urge to face palm whenever he spotted Shelly acting less than feminine (slutty, was what Shelly called it, to which Allen asked what that was, and Shelly simple pointed to 'Uncle Cross').

Said white-haired woman was bent double, heaving, which sort of surprised Cross because from the time he knew her she was healthy, fit, and exorcised daily. He raised a single, fiery red (and well sculptured, one could never forget about _that_) brow at her and took a long drag from his cigarette. "Gained weight?"

He really wasn't surprised when she smiled sweetly up at him, ripped his cancer stick away, stomped on it repeatedly, and sucker punched him in the gut.

_Really._


End file.
